


Missing Pieces

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: With the threat of Black Claw looming, and victory nowhere in sight, Nick finds himself forced to choose between betraying Lacie's trust, and risking her death instead. He knows what he has to do, though that doesn't make the task easier. And now all that remains to be seen is if Lacie will ever forgive him for what he's done when all the cards are on the table. OUAT inspired AU.
Relationships: Martin Meisner/Original Female Character(s), Nick Burkhardt/Adalind Schade, Rosalee Calvert/Monroe, Sean Renard/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 10





	1. Actions and Consequences

(Portland, Oregon, 4 January 2016)

"So, how do we do this?"

"How do we get Lacie to willingly drink something that looks like—that—and send her away from everyone she cares about, before she realizes what it is we're up to? No idea, man," Monroe shrugged, sharing a worried glance with Rosalee, before turning his attention towards his understandably agitated friend once again, "Have you tried just talking to her directly?"

"About leaving? Yeah, that didn't go very well," Nick quipped, running a hand through already tousled hair, while the other fell to his hip, and his feet took up the act of instinctively pacing the length of the small room situated at the rear end of the spice shop in the same motion, "She won't leave the Captain, or her baby. Not on her own, anyway."

"Well, I think that makes sense, Nick. It's not like none of us know the depth of their relationship."

"And that relationship is going to get her killed."

"Maybe not. Maybe keeping her with Sean is what's going to keep her safe," Rosalee suggested, aware of Nick's almost incredulous expression, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "He's protected her before."

"He can't protect her from this."

"Are you really that sure that he can't?"

"I know that he can't," Nick bit out, his jaw working convulsively as the aggravation and very real fear that had been eating away at him for months now finally came to an abrupt head, "None of us can. He—that monster wants her. And we've already seen what he can do when it comes to getting what he wants."

"Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, man, but it seems to me that the issue isn't that Renard can't protect Lacie from this. It's that you don't think you can."

Remaining speechless in the wake of Monroe's supposition, and yet knowing full well that he was right, Nick could do nothing more than simply resume the act of pacing across the wooden floorboards, his gaze occasionally straying to the honestly repulsive looking concoction resting on the table nearby. Monroe and Rosalee were right, obviously. There was absolutely no way he could think of to persuade his cousin to drink something that terrible without sparking suspicion as to the motivations behind the request, in the first place. But Elizabeth had assured him this was the only way to keep her safe. To ensure his cousin would not return to Portland on her own, because she would remember nothing about her life there to start with.

He had no other choice if he wanted Lacie to survive, and it was up to him to find a way to make the plan work.

"Look, I don't want either of you taking the blame for this, no matter how things turn out," Nick finally went on, noting the perplexed expression that had dawned across both Monroe and Rosalee's faces, and yet ignoring that in favor of going on, "If Lacie remembers, I don't want it to alienate her from you, and if Renard objects—"

"You don't want him to hold it against us, either."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Well, as much as Rosalee and I appreciate the sentiment, I think we both agree you shouldn't try to take this on alone," Monroe disagreed, once again glancing towards Rosalee, and managing a slight smile as she almost immediately reached forward to take his hand in her own, "She's our family too, Nick, even if she isn't related by blood."

"I know that. I do."

"Then let us help you," Rosalee cut in, somewhat calmed by the reassuring warmth of Monroe's hand in her own, despite the very real concern she felt for the safety of a woman she considered to be a very close friend, "Blame, or no blame, I think we owe it to you and Lacie to try."

"She's right, you know. You aren't alone in this, Nick, no matter how much you may want to be."

"There's nothing I can say to change your minds?" Nick inquired, knowing even before the almost immediate shake of the head he received in response that the answer would be a resounding no, though that was not quite enough to dull the small flash of guilt that he felt, regardless, over bringing them into this in the first place. He would have been a fool to pretend he did not recognize the very real risk inherent in forcing his cousin into this, without her consent, or the consent of the man she had so vehemently refused to leave. But even that knowledge did not dull the very real gratitude he felt even in spite of his lingering apprehension, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth serving as the only evidence of his appreciation, even though he knew it was enough for both of his companions, either way.

"Why don't you let us keep that for a bit," Rosalee suggested then, gesturing towards the small container sitting on the surface of the table, and hurrying to finish her thought before Nick could find any way to object, "Maybe I can find something that will make it a bit more palatable and less—"

"Suspicious? Disgusting?"

"All of the above."

"We don't have much time," Nick pressed, hating the fact that while he appreciated Rosalee's offer to disguise the substance in some way, he also felt a very real spasm of anxiety over how long doing such a thing may take, "If you can't find anything to fix it by—tomorrow—"

"Then we roll with the punches, and work with it as is. But I think it's worth a shot to give Rosalee's idea a try," Monroe interjected, reaching forward with his free hand, and placing it upon Nick's shoulder in hopes that the squeeze he gave would prove reassuring, "Why don't you go home and get some rest? You're not doing anyone any good working past the point of exhaustion."

"I'm not doing Lacie any good if I leave her open for Bonaparte to get to her, either."

"Why don't you let us handle that? Once I get Rosalee settled, I can head over to keep an eye on our girl for you."

"I don't expect you to do that, Monroe."

"Yeah, I know. That doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it anyway."

"I wouldn't bother trying to talk him out of this, Nick. It's not going to work," Rosalee began, aware of the resignation that had taken over their friend's features, and seeking to waylay it by offering him what she hoped would be a reassuring smile as she stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace before he could stop her, "We're going to figure it out. All of it. You just need to give it some time."

"And in the meantime, nothing that comes after Lacie will get past me," Monroe added, placing an arm around Rosalee's waist as she relinquished her hold on Nick, and stepped back to rest against his side, "Go. Sleep. Eat something. We can regroup and get a plan going in the morning."

"You're sure about this—"

"Wouldn't offer if I wasn't. Now go. Before you drop over, and we have to involve Lacie in all of this anyway."

"Thank you. Both of you," Nick replied, allowing himself one final glance toward his two companions, before turning and heading towards the door of the spice shop, and the sidewalk beyond, where his car remained parked at the curb. It would have been a lie to pretend he was not still reluctant to abandon his watch over his cousin, no matter how much he may trust Monroe with his own life, and hers as well. But regardless of the lingering guilt he felt over leaving her in another's hands, Nick also knew he would be a fool to think he could keep her safe when he was nearly past the point of exhaustion, himself.

He would just have to hope that their apparent new adversary would not make a move before he was ready to get Lacie out of Portland for good.

…

(Seattle, Washington 5 November, 2026)

"Babe, come on! We're gonna be late!"

"Just a second," Lacie called back, swiping away a rather stubborn lock of blonde hair that seemed determined to persist in falling across her brow, and checking her appearance one final time in the bathroom mirror, before turning to head towards the hallway, and the staircase nearby, "If I don't look absolutely flawless, you know Shelly will have something to say about it."

"You and I both know you could outshine Shelly in your sleep."

"You're just saying that because you don't want me to leave you defenseless with Bob tonight."

"No, I'm saying that because it's true."

"Suck up," Lacie teased, relinquishing her hold on the bannister as soon as she reached the ground floor of their home, and leaning up to press her lips to her companion's before moving around him, and towards where her shoes were waiting on the mat beside the door, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted something."

"Who says I don't?"

Grinning at the feel of a pair of strong arms winding around her waist, Lacie allowed herself to settle back against the warmth of a solid chest, her hands shifting to cover her companion's so that their fingers could thread together in the same motion. It would have been a lie to pretend she was not comforted by the gesture, regardless of whether the closeness meant that she risked wrinkling the fabric of her dress as a result. But even in spite of the warmth she felt in the embrace she had so willingly given into, Lacie forced herself to pull away, her lips quirking up into a smile as she turned to face her companion, and noted the expression that was not all that far from a pout as it took over his features, and made her laugh out loud in response.

"Oh stop, you know this is probably going to be a short evening anyway."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," The man replied, moving past Lacie, and only pausing just long enough to press a kiss to her temple, while the hand that had not momentarily brushed against the small of her back as he passed reached into his pocket and seized the small velvet box therein. Though Lacie did not know it yet, he had already backed out of their plans with the only friends, if Shelly and Bob could even be called such a thing, and had something entirely different in mind for their time together that night. And although he had never had a history of being anything less than sure of his intentions, something about the idea of Lacie's potential reaction to the box, and what rested inside it had suddenly rendered him more than a little apprehensive, the sensation forcing him to tug his hand out of his pocket as though he had just been burned in hopes that the woman now waiting beside the door would not notice that anything was amiss.

"Ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be," Lacie confirmed, reaching out for her lover's hand, and smiling as their fingers threaded together as easily as they always seemed to, no matter how difficult she sometimes found it to explain the surety she felt that he had her best interests at heart, whether she truly deserved such a thing or not. Sometimes she still wondered exactly how their friendship had turned into what it was now, particularly when she had never quite been able to figure out precisely when that had happened, or what had caused it in the first place. But even with such an inability to pinpoint the precise moment when she had fallen for the man who had been with her for so many years, Lacie was not at all willing to doubt what she felt for him was genuine, her fingers tightening their hold on his hand as the two of them stepped through the front door of their home, and into the crisp air of the night.

Whether she could explain it or not, she knew she loved him, and that was more than enough for now.

…


	2. Beginning of the End

(Portland, Oregon, 4 January 2016)

The sound of tires moving against wet pavement drifting in through the open window rather effectively diverted Lacie's attention from the book she had been perusing, one hand closing the cover over the yellowed pages with a soft thump, as she straightened in the arm-chair she had been curled up in to peer out the window nearby. With a smile that was half resigned, half amused, she recognized the vehicle as Monroe's yellow Beetle, one hand lifting to drag absently through her hair as she used the other to lift the book in her lap and place it upon a nearby table. Before long, she was standing, arms stretched overhead while she twisted at the waist until her spine emitted a satisfactory pop in response. And although another glance out the window showed her that Monroe clearly had no intention of setting foot outside his car in the foreseeable future, Lacie found herself suppressing a smile as she padded over the soft carpeting into the kitchen, her aim to obtain some of the leftover cookies from the holidays to take down to her would-be guest, even if he never did intend to set foot inside her home.

After all, she suspected she already knew the reason why he was here, and even with the niggling sense of frustration she felt over Nick's apparent insistence that she needed to be watched, Lacie would not have it said that she left one of her friends out in the cold, with nothing to eat…

Steeled by the thought, Lacie turned from the refrigerator with treats in hand, and headed towards the cupboard on the opposite wall, craning up on her tiptoes for a moment to snag a paper plate and a few napkins from inside. With that done, she headed back towards the den, one final glance out of the window assuring her that Monroe was still precisely where he had been the last time she looked, and giving her the means to continue on to the foyer, to toe on her shoes and head out the door. And although she could practically hear the admonition her cousin would give her if he could see her traipsing outdoors after dark, with hardly a glance at her surroundings, Lacie persisted in doing precisely that, the fine sheen of rain that fell from the sky overhead hardly bothering her at all as she closed the distance between herself, and the familiar yellow Beetle with a smile toying at the corners of her mouth while Monroe cranked down the window of the driver's side door before he spoke.

"Lacie? What are you doing out here?"

"What does it look like?" The young woman quipped, gently shaking the Tupperware container the cookies were housed in, and noting the almost predictable smile that spread across her companion's features in response, "Thought you might be hungry, especially if you found yourself stuck on night shift."

"I don't really consider it being stuck, to be honest—"

"No? What would you call it, then?"

"Doing what needed to be done?" Monroe mused, aware that Lacie did not seem to be even slightly convinced, and yet somehow finding the wherewithal to manage a nonchalant shrug, regardless, "Or, I'm in search of free cookies, and I knew you would oblige."

"Glad to know I'm predictable."

"And a good hostess."

"Wow, two things I'm good at. Who knew?" Lacie teased, moving towards the passenger side of Monroe's Beetle as she realized he had already unlocked the door, and handing him the container of cookies, along with the napkins and plate before sliding into the seat and shutting the door behind her, "Thanks for letting me in, by the way."

"What kind of friend would I be if I let you stand out in the rain to catch your death of cold?"

"Seems a little—dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm good with it," Monroe shrugged, popping the lid off of the container, and snagging a cookie so that he could take a quick bite before going on, "You on your own in there, tonight?"

"For the time-being. Sean took Diana and the baby to see his mother for a bit."

"Grandma bonding time?"

"The very same," Lacie confirmed, watching as Monroe swiped another cookie from the container not all that long after dispatching the first one, and reaching over to take one for herself despite having just finished dinner not that long ago, "Sometimes I'm still amazed at how—accepting she's been with all of this."

"You mean the bit about her son being romantically involved with a Grimm?"

"Yeah. That."

"Well, you won me over pretty quickly," Monroe admitted, secretly pleased that even with everything going on, his remark had been enough to persuade his companion to allow a soft huff of a laugh to escape, even around the cookie she had just bitten into, and choosing to take that small proof of amusement as further leave to carry on, "Of course, I wasn't exactly prospective mother-in-law material."

"No, you definitely weren't. And she—Elizabeth isn't my mother-in-law."

"Yet."

"Monroe—"

"What? It's the next logical step in your relationship."

"I don't really see Sean as the marrying type," Lacie countered, trying and failing to ignore the faint flush that stole over her cheeks, and diverting her attention to the remnants of the cookie in her hand in lieu of looking at her companion directly, "And something tells me you didn't come here to talk about a thing that's probably never going to happen, anyway."

"Well…no. I didn't," Monroe confessed, risking a glance at the young woman seated beside him, and frowning a bit before forcing himself to go on, "Is this your way of trying to change the subject?"

"Maybe."

"For the record, I'm not convinced."

"You kind of don't have to be," Lacie began, exhaling and leaning her head back against the leather of the seat at her back, her eyes drifting closed as she tried to force herself to relax, "I wasn't exactly going for convincing, there."

"Then what were you going for?" Monroe inquired, placing the container of cookies on the dashboard, and turning just a bit so that he could face the young woman in the passenger seat more directly. He would have been blind to miss the slight twitch of a muscle at her jawline, though he was wise enough to avoid making direct reference to that realization out loud. And although he honestly would have preferred to take his inquiry back before Lacie felt compelled to answer him at all, he found himself thwarted in the act as Lacie shifted just a bit in the seat she occupied, and swallowed once before she replied.

"Does it make me crazy if I come clean, and say I have no idea?"

"Honestly? I think it would make you crazier if you pretended you did have an idea."

"I suppose that's reassuring—"

"It was meant to be. And you—you know you're not on your own with this, right? No one is gonna touch you."

"That's not what I'm worried about, Monroe," Lacie assured, wetting her lips with her tongue, and forcing herself to meet her friend's gaze head-on as she spoke once more, "I'm more concerned that Nick will use everything that's been going on as a reason to keep me out of the loop."

"Has he made you feel like he'd ever do that, before?"

"Not in those exact words. More like he—he kind of suggested I should leave town altogether."

"He—he did," Monroe repeated, schooling his expression into something as close to neutrality as he could manage, and hoping that in light of the darkness in his car, Lacie simply would not notice if it was not up to par, "And what did you tell him?"

"That I wasn't going anywhere. I—I can't leave, Monroe, I have—I've got a family. I'm not—I won't leave my child—"

"I don't think I can really blame you. But I really don't think I can blame him, either."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you're the only actual family he has left now, and I don't think he's exactly eager to lose you if he can help it."

"How does sending me away equate to not losing me?" Lacie demanded, some of the frustration she had been trying so valiantly to keep at bay seeping into her tone, and causing her to wince as she realized Monroe had picked up on that fact before she could do a thing to stop it, "I'm—I'm sorry. I just—this whole thing has gotten so far out of hand—"

"That you don't know what to do, when every decision you could make feels like the wrong one," Monroe finished, seeing the almost immediate look of recognition that dawned across Lacie's features, and fighting against the nagging sense of guilt he felt that he was keeping a secret from her that fell in perfectly with everything she seemed to fear, "Believe me, Lace, I get it."

"At least someone does."

"So, in light of my apparent ability to understand you, does that mean you forgive me for having a sort of stake out situation right outside your front door?"

"I guess, in a roundabout way, it does," Lacie said, some small bit of the tension that had been eating away at her abating in favor of the slight laugh that broke free in response to Monroe's request, "Did Nick send you?"

"Actually, I kind of volunteered."

"Really? What brought that on?"

"Maybe the fact that I'm kind of invested in keeping you safe, too," Monroe stated, shifting in the driver's seat until he was facing forward once again, and managing a faint smile before he finished, "You kind of wormed your way in, kid, whether you wanted to or not."

"Kid?"

"You got a problem with that title?"

"It just seems a little inaccurate," Lacie corrected, lifting a hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and shivering a bit, even in spite of the warmth of the air coming through the vents in Monroe's Beetle, "I don't think I've really been a 'kid' since I got thrown into the deep end of the Grimm swimming pool."

"It's a term of endearment."

"Oh. Gotcha."

"Now say that again, and try to sound a little more convincing," Monroe laughed, shaking his head at Lacie's almost predictable roll of the eyes, and reaching across the console to take her hand in his own, in order to give it a small squeeze that he hoped would be encouraging, despite the suddenly serious turn their conversation had taken, "I've got your back, Lacie. You might as well just get used to it."

"Well, you should come inside, if you're really serious about staying all night. I hate the thought of you being stuck out here on your own."

"I'm out here so that nothing gets in there. And don't worry about it, Lacie. I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You sure?" The young woman pressed, glancing down at where Monroe's hand still remained curled around hers, and frowning at the thought of him willingly giving up a night away from his wife to protect her from something she still could not fully understand, "You don't—once Sean comes home, I really don't think you need to stand guard."

"There, I disagree. But, do me a favor and—don't tell the big guy I said that, okay? It kind of does a number on the ego to hear someone else saying they don't think you've got what it takes to handle your own."

"My lips are sealed," Lacie promised, returning the squeeze Monroe had given her hand with one of her own, and then gently extracting herself from his grasp in favor of opening the passenger side door, and preparing to exit the vehicle altogether, "My offer still stands, though. You're welcome to come inside any time you'd like."

"Noted. And it might be better if you stayed inside for the rest of the night. If Nick finds out I encouraged you to come out to begin with—"

"He's not going to hear that from me."

Sparing one final smile for her companion, even in spite of how she still felt more than a little guilty over the prospect of him remaining outside on such a dreary night, alone, Lacie forced herself to shut the door behind her and head back towards her own home, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she jogged across the driveway, in hopes that she would not get too wet as the rain had amped up a bit since the time she had left. In next to no time at all, she had reached the front door, and stepped back into the warmth of the foyer, with another shiver passing through her frame in response to the sudden change in temperature. And although she was still very much aware of what it was costing Monroe—Rosalee—every one of her friends, to persist in the act of standing guard against something she was not entirely certain they could defeat, Lacie would have been a liar to pretend that it did not do her at least some good to know that, at least for this one night, perhaps she was not as alone as she may have thought.

If nothing else, at least she knew that if it came to a fight, she would not have to stand on her own…

Selfish as the thought may be, she knew that she would not have it any other way.

…

(Seattle, Washington 5 November, 2026)

"So, when you said we were meeting for dinner with Bob and Shelly—" Lacie began, allowing her companion to take her coat, and quirking a brow as she turned just in time to note the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth in response before he replied.

"I may have lied."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Does a man need a reason to spend some time alone with his favorite person in the world?"

"Flatterer."

"That may be, but it's true," The man claimed, hanging Lacie's jacket on the hook beside the booth they had been led towards, while she slid into the seat, and he followed not long thereafter, "Is this seat taken?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

"I thought so."

"Maybe you shouldn't quit your day job, then," Lacie teased, reaching over to pinch her companion in the side, only to find that he snagged her hand far faster than she could have anticipated, threading their fingers together and using the newfound leverage to pull her against his side in the same motion, "What? It's just a thought."

"Not one of your better ones, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"Well, you always said you admired my honesty."

"Consider this me taking it back."

"I'm not too sure you want to be doing that," The man cautioned, pulling his companion still closer against his side, and suppressing a grin when she wriggled against him to get just a bit more comfortable in response, "You haven't seen what I have in mind for dessert, yet."

"Tell me it's chocolate cheesecake."

"If I did that, love, it might just ruin the surprise."

"Is that a bad thing?" Lacie asked, adopting a pout, even in spite of the fact that she was fairly certain it would not do her any good, "Come on, give me a tiny hint."

"Nope."

"Please."

"That's not helping," The man laughed, tightening his arm around Lacie's shoulder for a moment, and leaning over to press his lips against her temple for a moment, before pulling back and looking her in the eye, instead, "May as well save your breath."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're terribly mean sometimes?"

"I'm looking at her."

"Okay. I am definitely taking back that thing I said about admiring your honesty," Lacie remarked, nudging her companion in the side, and grinning openly at the startled rush of air that left his lungs before sidling away from him in hopes of avoiding retaliation, "Only secrets and lies from now on."

"Well now you're just ruining my plans."

"Your plans for what?"

"This," The man replied, his hand dipping into his pocket and withdrawing the tiny velvet box before he could think twice about it, and put the event off any longer. Though he would have been the first to admit it was ridiculous, given everything the two of them had survived together thus far, something about securing their relationship in a far more tangible way had him on edge, as though some instinct seemed to sense that they were running out of time, whether it was true or not. And so, before he could lose his nerve entirely, despite having faced far more tenuous situations than this, the man withdrew the box, and kept his gaze fixed attentively upon Lacie's features, such that he was aware of the precise moment in which she saw the box, and realization dawned over her features in seconds, flat.

"Martin—what—what are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

Hoping that he was correct in interpreting the way in which Lacie had bitten her lip as leave to continue, Martin opened the box, still keeping his gaze firmly fixed upon the woman seated beside him, even in spite of the slight distraction presented by the twinkle of the diamond as the dim lighting of the restaurant reflected on its surface. Almost immediately her green eyes had drifted down to the ring nestled within the box, gazing as though transfixed, or terrified that if she looked away for even a moment, it would disappear entirely. And although he still could not entirely shake the lingering fear that Lacie would eventually pull away, beneath the weight of what he was about to ask, Martin persisted in the act of withdrawing the ring from the box, his other hand reaching for Lacie's in time to note that she had started to tremble, though whether from fear, or excitement, he could not tell.

"For the record, this was supposed to be dessert," He explained, unable to suppress his own amusement as Lacie emitted a soft laugh, her eyes drifting to lock with his own while a soft smile overtook her features in the same motion, "But I suppose I got impatient, and couldn't wait."

"Wait for—wait for what?"

"You're really going to make me work for this, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Lacie admitted, a flush adorning her cheeks as she bit down on her lip once again, and tried to ignore the slight sting of tears pricking at her eyes, only to find rather quickly that she had failed entirely, "Sorry, I—I'm not trying to steal your thunder."

"Then say yes."

"What?"

"Say yes. Marry me, and you can steal all the thunder you want," Martin said, brushing the pad of his thumb across Lacie's knuckles, and shifting just a bit so that he would be better able to slide the ring onto her finger, if she allowed it, "I mean it, Lacie. I want this—you. Forever."

"I—yes. Yes," Lacie stammered, nodding vehemently as she simultaneously extended her hand, her teeth once again digging into her lip as she watched her companion slide the diamond onto her ring finger with an almost practiced sense of ease. Despite the weight of the ring, and the way in which it seemed to sparkle in the light over their table, a part of her still hardly dared to believe any of this was even real. But regardless of her own apparent inability to trust that she would not wake soon, to find this had all just been another elaborate dream, Lacie once again scooted closer to her companion, her arms winding around his neck while she felt the steady warmth of his own hands coming to rest upon either side of her waist.

"I want you too," She confessed, smiling as she leaned forward to press her lips against her apparent fiancé's, and humming in contentment as his grip tightened upon her waist, and the warmth of his mouth called to her own, almost preventing her from breaking away to finish, "Forever. Assuming—assuming you're aware of the consequences of tethering yourself to me for the rest of your life, that is."

"Trust me, love. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Regardless of what might have been, had their circumstances been different, Martin would have been a fool to pretend he was not abundantly grateful that things had panned out how they had, whether or not the end result was perhaps the most selfish thing he had ever done.

…


	3. The Apparition

(Seattle, Washington 6 November, 2026)

Lacie woke the following morning, a soft sigh escaping as she stretched no longer dormant muscles, one arm extending towards where she thought she would find the warmth of her companion's body, only to find that her hand brushed against emptiness, instead. A small furrow formed between her brows as she cracked one eye open, and regarded the bare linen of the bedsheets with a frown, her palm flattening against the surface, and thus allowing her to become distracted, for the moment, by the faint glimmering of the ring as it caught the hints of light beginning to enter the room from behind sheer curtains. Within moments, her lips had turned up at the corners, her fingers flexing just enough to allow her to watch the diamond twinkle just a bit with each movement she made. But before she could become too distracted by such a thing, the blonde found her attention diverted once more, this time by the sight of a small piece of paper lingering upon the pillow beside her own, that prompted her to reach for it so that she could read the familiar writing upon its surface.

L—

Gone to get some breakfast. Don't you dare leave the bed. Back soon.

M.

Grinning to herself in response to the directive, and smoothing her hand across the paper's surface in a gentle caress, before picking it up, and stowing it on the table beside the bed, Lacie caught herself stretching once more, while her mind strayed back to the events of the night before. She was engaged, although she could still hardly believe it, her mind running over and over the precise nature of Martin's proposal at least a hundred times as she once again permitted herself to become lost in the reality of the diamond resting upon her hand. Though it would have been a lie for her to pretend to be anything other than thrilled at the circumstances as they had presented themselves, it would also have been foolish for Lacie to ignore the lingering sense of foreboding she had felt ever since the ring had been placed on her finger.

It was as though donning the jewel was akin to some life altering decision that, try though she might to understand it, was simply impossible to grasp.

A slight shake of the head was the only physical evidence to the young woman's attempt at forcing herself away from such troubled musings, her frame shifting once more until she was seated, with the duvet drawn up beneath her shoulders to conceal her lack of attire. The instructions on the letter that had been left behind for her perusal still lingered in her mind, though now that she was on her own, she was more than a little inclined to seek out some form of clothing to ward off the sudden chill that had caused gooseflesh to spread across her skin. In an effort to alleviate the slightly disheartening sensation, Lacie was soon throwing the duvet back from her bare frame, her eyes lighting on Martin's discarded shirt resting on the floor only a few feet away. And it was not until she had stooped to pick up the garment, and draw it around her shoulders so that it could drop down to cover her torso, and end at mid-thigh, a small shiver passing through her as a slight breeze toyed at the ends of a loose strand of hair, causing her to frown once more as she realized it had come from the open door leading from the bedroom, to the hallway beyond.

She could not recall having left it open the night before, and yet it was very obviously open, now…

More troubled by the realization than she truly wished to admit, Lacie padded out into the hallway, and moved towards the window in question, her arms drawing in across her chest as another small gust of cool morning air wafted around her frame. Coming to a stop before it, she remained rooted to the spot for a moment or two, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she tried to reconcile her sudden immobility with the unexpected realization that she was waiting for a reason, even if she could not yet grasp what that reason was. But just as she had been prepared to reach forward to shut and lock it against the sudden chill, Lacie caught herself freezing in the act, her feet stumbling an instinctive step backwards as she noted the sudden appearance of a reflection in the glass that was not her own.

The little girl had light blonde hair, not all that different from Lacie's own, falling down to frame her face, and accentuating its youth in the process. In spite of the transparency of the reflection itself, Lacie found herself possessed with the singular determination that the little girl was very much real. Tangible, almost, but for the barrier the glass posed between them. And although every instinct she possessed seemed to insist that she turn and run as far as she could from the spectral sight, Lacie remained rooted to the spot, her toes curling into the plush fabric of the carpeting beneath her feet as she waited with bated breath for the figure to speak.

"You aren't losing your mind. I'm really here," The little girl assured, her eyes drifting across Lacie's features as though determined to commit them to memory, before she was going on, her voice ringing clearly in Lacie's ears despite the fact that she still could not believe any of this was real, "I came to warn you."

"To—warn me about—about what?"

"About what's coming," The girl supplied, her tone seeming to indicate the revelation was as natural as saying the sky was, in fact blue, though that did little to reassure the stunned woman she addressed that she had not somehow managed to lose her grip on sanity entirely, "You aren't safe, anymore."

"Why? Why am I not safe?" Lacie questioned, flinching in the wake of the tremble that became so apparent in her voice, despite all her efforts to keep it from making itself known. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she had already started to chastise herself for doing this—for talking to some image in a window, when she should have been dismissing the entire ordeal as the remnants of a dream she had long forgotten as soon as she woke. But in spite of that awareness, Lacie remained precisely where she was, waiting for the little girl's answer as though her very life depended on receiving it.

Given the pit of dread that had formed in her stomach, perhaps it did…

"They sent men after you. To find you," The little girl explained, her eyes holding Lacie's in spite of how fiercely the older woman wished she could look away, and forcing her to note that the longer she looked, the more visible the faint purple glow in those eyes became, "They are getting closer."

"Who—who are they?"

"Bad men."

"Why are they coming here?"

"To find you. To bring you back to him."

"And who is this—him?" Lacie began, once again questioning her own sanity as she remained where she was, asking questions of a reflection that could not have been real, "What does he want with me?"

"You know. You need to remember for yourself," The girl replied, the reflection flickering just a bit, as though it had been disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, "I have to go, now. Daddy's home, and he brought him home, too."

"Wait! Wait," Lacie exclaimed, hating herself for giving into the desire to know more about this girl's motives for appearing to her at all, when she still fought against the desire to simply turn away, and pretend none of this had ever happened at all. Seeing things—hearing voices that were not there—all of it pointed to the beginnings of madness, and she was entirely unprepared to cope with the reality of such a thing, now that it seemed to be staring her in the face whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. But still, she seemed all but incapable of remaining silent, in the wake of the little girl's impending departure, her eyes widening just a bit in response to the sudden flashing of the girl's eyes as she lingered in response to Lacie's request, and the young woman was forced to scramble to force enough weight behind her next words for them to be heard, at all, "What—what's your name? Who are you?"

"You know that too. You just don't think that you do."

"What is—what does that mean?"

"It means you need to remember," The little girl stated, her reflection fading away far more quickly than Lacie was prepared to accept, though she lingered for just long enough that her final words still echoed in the space she left behind, "You have to remember, before it's too late."

Still frozen to the spot, even as she watched the little girl disappear, as though she had never been there at all, Lacie fought against the growing sense of unease that was now gnawing fervently at the already formed pit in her stomach, her teeth once again digging into her lower lip as she stepped forward to shut the window, in spite of her lingering doubts that doing so would prompt the girl to appear once again. When she was not forthcoming, however, Lacie found that she was suddenly capable of turning away from the window, and heading back towards the bedroom, while her arms once again crossed over her chest, this time out of a gesture of self-preservation, more than anything else. And just as she had managed to close the distance between herself, and the open bedroom door, Lacie found herself once again brought to a halt, her body tensing for only a moment as she registered the familiar creak that the topmost step made any time a significant weight was placed upon it, and turned to face the source of that sound in the same motion. In truth, she knew she must look rather disheveled, now, her fingers curling around the fabric of the shirt covering her arms while her shoulders hunched inward, and her hair dropped in sleep-tousled tangles about her shoulders, and down her back. But somehow, she was also very much aware of how the slight crease of concern that had marred her fiancé's brow in response to catching her out of bed was due to more than just her superficial appearance, her instinctive desire to school her features into something a bit less fearful obviously failing entirely as she watched Martin abandon the paper bag, and carrier that housed two tall cups of coffee on the table beside the stairs so that he could cross the floor towards her, instead, while one hand lifted to rest a calloused palm against her cheek.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"I'm not all that certain that I haven't," Lacie admitted, her words soft as she tried and failed to avert her eyes from the obvious worry that was so apparent in Martin's gaze, "It's—it's probably nothing. I'm just—I was tired, and I probably imagined the entire thing."

"Don't do that, love?"

"Don't do what?"

"Pretend like you haven't just been scared out of your skin," Martin clarified, reaching forward with his free hand to draw Lacie towards him, the fingers of that hand threading through her own before she could even attempt to pull away, "What happened?"

"You'll think I've gone mad."

"Perhaps I already do. You did agree to marry me, after all, or had you forgotten?"

"I could never forget," Lacie assured, glancing down towards their entwined hands, and exhaling slowly in hopes that it would allow her to gather her nerves for long enough to do as her fiancé had asked. She did not want to keep secrets from him. Not really, particularly as they had never been the sort to resist sharing whatever it was that troubled them in the past. But something about disclosing what she had just witnessed, or, what she thought she had just witnessed was far more daunting that she could have anticipated, her green eyes lingering on the sturdy weight of Martin's hand in her own for a moment before she summoned the wherewithal to go on.

"There was a—a little girl. She appeared in the window, and—and apparently, she was trying to warn us."

"Warn us about what?"

"That someone was coming here. For—for me. But it's all so laughably ridiculous, Martin, I'm still not entirely convinced that I made it all up—"

"Did this—girl—tell you who she was?" Martin inquired, something in his expression causing Lacie's apprehension to only grow, as she realized he appeared to be taking her seriously, whether she thought that such a thing was warranted, or not.

"No. She just—she said I would remember. That I needed to remember. That was all."

"What did she look like?"

"Seriously?" Lacie scoffed, pulling back from her fiancé just a bit, in spite of the fact that she still craved the comfort provided by his presence with the same fierce need that she felt to pull air into her lungs, "I'm not—this can't have possibly been real."

"What did she look like, love? I need to know," The man persisted, once again closing the distance between them, and frowning in response to how Lacie almost immediately dropped her gaze once again, as though the idea of looking him in the eye had suddenly become too much to bear. For a moment or two, he wondered if she truly intended to answer him at all, the small muscle that had begun to twitch against her jawline giving proof to her distress, though she was clearly doing her best to prevent such a thing from becoming apparent to him at all. But just as he had been prepared to proffer his inquiry once more, Martin found the effort waylaid, the hushed nature of Lacie's tone giving him at least some insight into her current mindset whether she cared to let him in entirely, or not.

"Young. Blonde, and her eyes—they were—"

"What?"

"Unreal. Hence the—the idea that I imagined all of it."

"I don't think you did," Martin said, aware of the surprise in Lacie's green eyes as she regarded him for a moment as though considering the fact that he had taken leave of his senses, entirely. It would have been foolish for him to pretend that he did not wish he had no reasonable suspicion as to exactly who it was that had appeared to his fiancé in his absence, knowing that acknowledging the little girl's very real presence would be the first step in something that would undeniably turn their lives upside down. But inasmuch as he was reluctant to risk Lacie's recollection of things that were better left in secret, Martin also knew he could hardly allow her to believe she had imagined all of this, when the look in her eyes suggested such a prospect was far more daunting than she cared to admit.

"I need to make a phone call."

"Martin—" Lacie began, her brow furrowing in confusion as she felt her fiancé pulling away from her, and turning towards the stairs once more while his hand strayed to the back pocket of his jeans to withdraw the cell phone stored therein, "This is—who on earth would you call?"

"A friend."

"And you aren't going to tell me who that friend is?" The blonde demanded, suddenly able to cast her trepidation aside for long enough to allow a mild aggravation to take its place, instead. In truth, the sudden shift in her fiancé's demeanor was at least a hundred times more troubling than the prospect of him finding her insane had ever been, her mind still scrabbling to find purchase on the reason why he would suddenly need to call this friend, when they had relied almost solely on one another for as long as she could remember. It didn't make any sense, any more than the reflection that had appeared to her in the mirror had done, and no matter how many times Lacie tried to remind herself that she trusted Martin implicitly with her life—her happiness—everything, she would have been a fool to pretend that she was not more than a little troubled that he appeared to be willing to shut her out, now, her breath leaving her lungs in a shaky rush before she forced herself to step after him, and reach for his hand before he could bring his phone to his ear.

"Martin, please. I need you to tell me what's going on."

"And I will. I will, Lacie, I promise you. But I need you to trust me enough to let me figure out where we go next," Martin implored, something in the urgency behind his words prompting Lacie to manage a faint nod, despite how she was more reluctant than ever to persist in going about her day without any promise of an answer to the myriad of questions she felt ricocheting in her mind, "I'll be right back. Go ahead and get started on the coffee. Bagels are in the bag."

Though her stomach had given an almost eager rumble at the mere mention of food, Lacie somehow knew that until Martin returned to their bedroom and told her what it was that she truly felt she needed to know, she would not be able to eat a single bite…

…

(Portland, Oregon, 4 January 2016)

Hidden behind a cluster of trees that rested at the back of the property line, the two men stood in silence, the occasional shift in their position giving leave to the soft rustle of a leaf, or snap of a twig in response. They had been standing in their current location for the better part of an hour, simply observing their target's actions through the many floor-to-ceiling windows in the upper level of the home. The woman moved around with all the ease of someone who never once doubted her place therein. The ease of a person that had grown accustomed to protection, whether it was provided by her own skill, or that of those who surrounded her. But all of that would be ending soon, if the man that had sent them here to begin with had anything to say about it. The woman would be offered a choice. Conform to the new world order, or die defending the old one. There would be no middle ground.

It would have been a lie for either of the two men watching from the shadows to pretend that they did not relish the idea of being the one to dispose of the headstrong young Grimm themselves, should she happen to choose the wrong side…

In response to the thought, the taller of the two men moved forward a fraction of an inch, grey eyes reflecting in the faint light of the moon as he gazed up at the window the young woman sat beside, her attention entirely absorbed in a book. It was almost laughable, the man thought, that she seemed so at ease, when there had been no secret of exactly what length their employer would go to in order to secure her loyalty, or punish her should she prove disobedient. And as he

watched the young woman tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear as she shifted just a bit to draw both legs up beneath her upon the cushion of her chair, the man allowed himself a slight shake of the head, his attention turning towards his companion for a moment before he broke the silence that existed between them with a bark of a laugh, and sinister words.

"You'd think we'd never given the bitch a reason to think we were serious, the way she's acting."

"Why should she? She's got her little guard dog out front," The shorter man shot back, turning his head to the side in order to spit a wad of tobacco onto the ground at his feet, and snorting back a laugh at the ridiculousness of his companion's assertion before going on, "And there's the matter of the man whose bed she's glued to—"

"I'm not afraid of Sean Renard."

"Maybe you should be. Or have you forgotten how far he'll go to protect her?"

"He wouldn't go very far if he was killed, too."

"That's not for you to decide," The shorter man pressed, his lips curling into a sneer as he watched their target suddenly stand from her chair, the book momentarily forgotten as she disappeared from view, as though drawn by some unexpected sound at the other end of the home, "That's not for either of us to decide."

"Seems like we'd be doing Bonaparte a favor if we did kill him, though," The taller man insisted, ignoring the roll of the eyes he received from his companion in favor of moving to lean against the rough bark of a nearby tree, while simultaneously directing a scowl at the now empty window, and grinding his teeth together in frustration before going on, "We'd get his kids, and the woman, all in one go."

"Go ahead and do it, then. See how long you last."

"I told you, I'm not afraid of Sean—"

"No, but you are afraid of him," The shorter man interrupted, closing the distance between himself, and his companion, and using the newfound hold he possessed upon the man's arm to yank him upright, until they stood a mere hairsbreadth apart, "That, and that alone, will keep you in line, no matter how much you claim you'll do otherwise."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"I know that."

In lieu of another reply, the taller of the two men emitted an enraged growl, the fingers of one hand balling into a fist and arching towards his companion's cheek, until the motion was brought to a startlingly abrupt halt as his would-be opponent seized his wrist, and used the sudden leverage to twist his attacker's arm back, and upward at such an angle that he was forced to bend at the waist, while his anger turned to a grunt of pain not that long thereafter. The change to his

face was almost instantaneous, teeth growing to elongated points, as scales replaced pale skin, and a forked red tongue shivered in a threatening hiss. But just as he had been prepared to crane his neck around to strike at the man that held him down in such a manner, he found his companion's features shifting as well, a grizzled face elongating into something more resemblant of a feral dog than a man, and a rumbling growl emanated from deep within his throat.

"We take the girl when he says we do," He ground out, tightening his hold upon his adversary's wrist for a moment, before releasing it entirely, and shoving the man away with a rough grunt, and a kick to the back of the knee for good measure, "And we leave Renard out of it. Bonaparte's got plans for him that don't involve death."

Whether he would have enjoyed gutting the man himself, or not, the shorter man knew very well that going against their leader's wishes would render any sense of victory over Renard's death immaterial in the face of their own execution that would surely follow not long thereafter.

…


	4. Stowaway

(Portland, Oregon 6 November, 2026)

The ten year old boy hunkered down beneath the thin blanket stowed in the back seat of the Jeep, a giddy sort of excitement stealing over him at the prospect of what he was about to do. He had slipped inside while the man now ensconced in the driver's seat had ventured back into his home to ensure he had not inadvertently left anything behind. And, now that they had been on the road for a sufficient amount of time, it would have been a lie to say that he was anything other than intrigued at the prospect of where, exactly, his uncle was going, whether or not he suspected the eventual realization of his presence would be every bit as surprising as it was unwelcome.

Still, the boy would have been a fool to pretend he had not been waiting for an opportunity like this, the routine trips that his uncle made to some undisclosed location having gnawed away at his curiosity until it was ready to snap. He had asked his uncle, of course, begging so many different times for details that he had almost feared he would be pushed away completely. But Nick had remained patient. Saint-like, even, in the wake of what could have only been an absolutely exhausting array of questions about where he disappeared to for days at a time at least every other month, if not more often than that. And perhaps that fact alone turned out to be enough to persuade the ten year old to even begin to think of the sequence of events that lead to his current position in the first place, his lips curving into a faint smile as he congratulated himself upon a job well done.

After all, it was not as though it had ever been said that he lacked ingenuity when it came to getting what he wanted.

In that regard, he supposed, he was very much like his father.

For a moment, a frown teased its way onto the boy's features, while a tentative sort of guilt began to take hold at the thought of exactly what his father might do when he found his son had disappeared. But as soon as the expression had come, it was all too quickly fading away in light of the fact that he had perhaps the very best person he could find to cover for his absence as long as it was required.

Diana was older by a mere three years, though she had matured far more quickly than anyone thought possible, her penchant for mischief far outweighing his own whether he cared to admit it or not. That tendency had served him well, though, as he had persuaded her to do whatever she could to keep their father from sending anyone after him. And not for the first time, the boy caught himself in recognition of how, though she was only his half-sister, the two of them were as close as if they had been twins all along.

Secure in the knowledge that he could trust his sister to keep to her promise, the boy allowed himself the briefest of moments to steel his courage for making his presence known, the suspicion that they had already come too far for his uncle to wish to waste time by turning back to deliver him home prompting him to risk one last, composing breath, before throwing the blanket back from his gangly frame, and preparing to sit erect. His timing could not have been better, it seemed, as he felt the vehicle rolling slowly to a stop. And before he could lose his nerve entirely, the young boy pulled himself upright, his gaze turning towards the small portion of his uncle's features that were visible to him in the rearview mirror, another smile stretching across his lips as he spoke up loud enough to be heard above the low hum of the engine, and the music playing softly on the stereo up front.

"Hey Uncle Nick! Where are we going?"

…

Prior to the unexpected intrusion of a familiar voice in his thoughts, Nick Burkhardt had been held in the thrall of a rather grim mood, the music wafting out of the speakers hardly making a dent despite his fervent hope that the opposite would prove to be true. The phone call he had received earlier that morning had only confirmed his suspicions that the man that had forced him underground and nearly destroyed everything and everyone he cared about was on the move again, posing a threat to the one person he had worked so tirelessly to keep at bay for the past ten years. He did not know how the man had gotten the inkling that the woman he sought was alive. Not when he, and everyone else involved had gone to such lengths to ensure that her disappearance led to rumors of her death not long thereafter. But the fact of the matter was, she was in danger once again. Lacie. His cousin.

Everything that had happened to her had been because of a choice he made, and now he was faced with the prospect of throwing her life into disarray once again, when from the frequent updates from the man who had made the call to begin with, it seemed as though she had finally found a sense of equilibrium on her own.

In the wake of the guilt that came in tandem with the thought, Nick pulled one hand away from the steering wheel to run through dark hair, a groan escaping before he could stop it as thoughts of whether or not Lacie would ever be capable of forgiving him threatened to take hold. As much as he still believed his decision had been the best available at the time, Nick would have been a fool to ignore the very real prospect of Lacie's outrage and dismay once she learned the truth. But in the wake of what Martin had told him earlier that day, his cousin was close to discovering everything that had led to her erstwhile exile from Portland, herself, whether or not he had a thing to say about it.

Lacie would know what he had done, in just a few short hours. And whether she saw the reasoning behind his decisions or not, Nick supposed he would simply have to satisfy himself with the fact that, once again, he had risked her ire to keep her safe.

He could only pray that it worked.

Exhaling in the hopes that it would help to settle his resolve, Nick had diverted his attention back to the present with just enough time to shift his foot over to the brake pedal after realizing the upcoming streetlight had gone from green, to yellow, his fingers flexing against the leather of the steering wheel while his lips thinned into a line in evidence of his indecision and concern. And it was then that he saw it. The slight shifting in the rear of the Jeep that had every instinct he possessed on high alert, the shock of the familiar face reflecting in the rearview mirror causing him to jump while the boy he had done his best to protect grinned up at him before breaking the silence with a cheerful inquiry as though his sudden appearance were the most predictable thing in the world.

"Hey Uncle Nick! Where are we going?"

"Will? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Going with you, wherever you're going," The boy supplied, his shrug suggesting that he thought the idea was the simplest one in the world as he clambered over the back seat, and plopped down in the passenger seat not that long thereafter, "So. Where are we going?"

"We are not going anywhere," Nick began, checking the rearview and side mirrors before pulling over, and throwing the car in park so that he could look his unanticipated young companion in the eye, directly, "Does your dad know you're here?"

"If he did, I don't think I would actually be here…"

"That's not-that's not funny, kid. Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you could be in for pulling a stunt like this?"

"Diana said she'd take care of my dad."

"Oh. Well, now that I have the promises of a teenager, I suppose I'll just stop worrying."

"She can handle this, Uncle Nick. You know she can," Will pressed, noting how his uncle seemed to have slumped back in the driver's seat, one hand running across obviously exhausted features before he was looking his way once more. The boy knew that Nick had to be evaluating his assurance. Working out whether or not he could dare to believe in it every bit as much as Will did, himself. And although his expression remained unreadable, the boy was determined to believe that his uncle would eventually see his side of things, his posture shifting so that he faced Nick completely before he broke the silence between them once more.

"Dad'll listen to her. I know he will. No one's gonna come after us."

"Whether they will or not, I'm taking you back," Nick disagreed, throwing the vehicle in drive, and preparing to turn and head back in the opposite direction, only to find that the act prompted his nephew to seize his arm in a surprisingly tight grip, such that his hand was wrenched away from the steering wheel before he could stop it.

"No! You can't take me back! You've been on the road for hours already; going back will just waste your time."

"I'm not going to risk you getting hurt, Will."

"What if taking me back makes that happen, for real?"

"What are you talking about, kid?"

"I said my dad wouldn't send people after us, but what if he does?" Will asked, aware that he was pressing his luck with this particular line of reasoning, and yet finding that it appeared to be the only option he had, given the circumstances, "If you take me back now, you could run into them."

"Will, come on-"

"I'm serious! You know the kind of guys my dad keeps around. What if you can't take them?"

"This isn't about whether I can take a couple of thugs or not. It's about keeping you safe," Nick countered, keeping a steady pressure on the brake pedal, and regarding his nephew with an expression that was nothing short of determined before going on, "Your dad already wants me dead. That isn't getting any better if I let something happen to you."

"He doesn't want you dead, Uncle Nick. He just misses Mom."

Unable to come up with an immediate reply in the wake of the obvious sincerity that was so readily apparent in his nephew's tone, Nick opted for remaining silent, another pang of guilt tearing at his conscience as he tried to push that feeling down as quickly as he could. He was not blind to the fact that, in sending Lacie away, he had interfered in the life of another individual as well, whether or not he had ever truly seen eye to eye with the man that his cousin seemed to love beyond all reason. And in the wake of his nephew's surprisingly spot-on suggestion, Nick found that he was suddenly brought to the realization that in spite of how he sometimes still insisted upon seeing the boy sat beside him as just that-a boy-Will was growing up before his very eyes.

He had a good head on his shoulders, even in spite of his mother's absence, and Nick supposed he had to grudgingly admit that at least some of that hardiness just might have to be attributed to Sean Renard, himself.

"What do you want me to do, kid?" Nick inquired, resignation coloring his tone as he came to the conclusion that he knew what the young boy's immediate answer would be, whether he truly wanted to admit to it or not, "Take you along with me, like that was the plan all along?"

"Well, yeah. It's been a while since we've gone on an adventure together, anyway."

As he prepared, however grudgingly, to continue in the direction he had been heading before his discovery of his nephew's presence along with him, all that Nick could hope for was that, by journey's end, Will would not find that he had every reason to hate him as Lacie did, herself.

There had been a reason the boy and his father were led to believe she had died, and that was about to be blown to hell in just a few short hours' time.

…

(Portland, Oregon 4 January 2016)

"You're late," Lacie accused, tempering the words with a smile as she leaned up on tiptoe to brush her lips against the cheek of the man who had just entered the foyer of their home, before dropping back to her heels to turn her attention to the infant in the carrier held securely in his arms, "I'm missing some quality time with my little man, here."

"And here I thought you would have been missing me."

"Well, there was that, too."

"Nice save."

"I aim to please," Lacie quipped, smiling down at her son as he secured her finger with one tiny hand, before turning to glance up at the man hovering beside her once again, "Where's Diana?"

"She wanted to stay with my mother. Apparently there was a promise of a chick flick, and snacks, involved."

"A chick flick."

"Something funny about that?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I just didn't think that Sean Renard had a word like that in his vocabulary."

"You'd be surprised," Sean deadpanned, handing the carrier over to Lacie's eager grasp, and placing his newly freed hand at the small of her back in order to stoop just a bit so that his next words caused a shiver to roll down her spine, "Don't get any bright ideas, Lacie. The answer to whether I'll willingly watch Legally Blonde is still a resounding no."

"Buzzkill," Lacie griped, sidling away from her companion's touch, though as always, the act caused her to feel more than a little bereft as a result, "This is why you're never invited to girl's night."

"And here I thought it was because I am actually not a girl."

"Doesn't mean you still couldn't tag along. Monroe comes, sometimes."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll pass."

"That's fair. Not everyone is as comfortable as he is when it comes to their masculinity."

"Believe me, Lacie, I am plenty comfortable with my masculinity," Sean assured, a twitch at the corner of his mouth serving as the only hint he gave of the amusement he felt over the slight flush that adorned Lacie's cheeks, though she clearly was doing her best to keep that reality a secret as she averted her gaze towards their son again before moving down the hallway towards the den, "Speaking of Monroe, he's still outside."

"I know."

"You do."

"It's kind of hard to miss when he pulls right into the drive," Lacie shrugged, setting the carrier on the sofa, and beginning the task of unhooking her son from its confines so that she could hold him in her arms, instead, "I gave him some cookies leftover from the party."

"Lacie-"

"What? He looked hungry."

"You were supposed to stay inside," Sean admonished, watching as Lacie remained almost entirely preoccupied with doting on their son as she released him from the carrier and he cooed happily in response, "Especially since you were alone."

"Technically, once Monroe arrived, I wasn't really alone," The blonde argued, keeping green eyes fixed on her son's tiny hands as they extended towards her, her lips turning up in a faint smile in spite of the fact that she knew her presumed distraction would likely earn her no favors in the coming moments, "Sean, I can't-I can't stay cooped up on my own all the time. I'll go insane."

"I would rather have you insane, than dead."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"I am sure," Sean pressed, stepping into the den himself, and moving close enough to Lacie's side that she was forced to look away from their son, and towards him, instead, her eyes wide with shock at the sudden intensity behind his gaze, "I almost lost you once. I'm not going to do that again."

"Sean-" Lacie breathed, honestly at a loss for words in spite of how she had been preparing a veritable arsenal when initially faced with the prospect of defending her actions against his apparent disappointment. Though she could not remember much of the event that led to a month-long hospitalization, Lacie knew full well that the situation was something that still haunted the father of her child…

While all she had to recall the event by was a scar spanning a good chunk of her abdomen, Sean had spent the majority of the time she had been unconscious fully aware of how close she had come to death.

"I'm sorry," She finally managed, shifting her son until he was nestled against her torso so that she could use her newly freed hand to reach for Sean's, threading their fingers together and pulling him to sit on the arm of the sofa beside her before he could object, "I'm sorry. I just-I've never been good at this whole waiting around thing."

"That makes two of us."

"And you know I'm not trying to be difficult. Not on purpose."

"Lacie, I've seen your version of difficult. This? This is nothing like that," Sean confessed, another smile beginning to tug at one corner of his mouth in response to the soft laugh Lacie gave in response to his assertion, "And this isn't forever. Just until-"

"Until you take care of Black Claw for good."

"You know that's the only way."

"And what if it doesn't work?" Lacie persisted, glancing down towards where her hand was still entwined with Sean's and allowing a sigh to pass her lips before going on, "What if you can't bring them down as fast as you think you can and this goes on for years?"

"Then we come up with another plan. And I do whatever I have to do, to keep you, and our children safe."

In hopes of distracting Lacie from her apparent attempt to protest, Sean disentangled his hand from her own in favor of brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow, his body bending until he could brush his lips against her own, while the fingers of his hand strayed to the back of her neck. He could practically sense her agitation at having been kept away from the action, such as it was, when before, she had been in the thick of things every bit as much as her cousin was, himself. And inasmuch as he hated being the cause of her distress, he also knew that keeping her as far as possible from any conflict was the only means he had at his disposal to keep her alive.

Bonaparte would not lay hands on her again unless he killed Sean first.

…


End file.
